That's a number of alarmingly specific examples, but Claudius supposes that's fair. He's sped through the unpleasant details of his life before, archly matter-of-fact -- they are matters of fact, banal realities he's had to live with, until he couldn't imagine living otherwise. Life goes on, or goes on until you die and ascend to Valhalla, and you forget to tend the jutting broken bones. It doesn't matter if you can still walk on them, however much you might wince. It's surprising, and revealing: he and Magnus have more in common than he'd thought.

"It's tempting at times, I admit," he says. "Passing one's pain on to others. I have a vicious, vengeful streak in me. My brother beat it into me. Of course I can hardly ask sympathy for childhood beatings, given how things ended between us ... but it may be a trauma I've yet to treat. Another reason why all this has rattled me." With genuine curiosity, and genuine respect for Magnus, he asks, "How do you handle the ache of your traumas?"